


the greatest expectations

by gossamernotes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (2008), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Betty Ross, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, F/M, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamernotes/pseuds/gossamernotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betty is at Culver when the sky rips open above Manhattan, and then she sees the Hulk tear across the city's skyline with a furious roar. </p><p>She can't say that she's entirely surprised.  </p><p>[The story wherein Betty sees the Hulk on TV during the Chitauri Invasion and heads to Manhattan with just her lab coat and a plan. It all kind of works out in the end.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the greatest expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. I have a problem. I told myself this would be no longer than 4k, and BAM! It's nearly 8k!
> 
> Let me know what you all think! I am a bit nervous about how I pulled off Betty's voice here, so let me know. 
> 
> Enjoy all the Betty/Bruce feels. Also Tony's idiotic mouth. It likes to cause problems.

Betty is at Culver when the sky rips open above Manhattan and leaves the world reeling from its first intergalactic war. 

Sitting in her office, a spread of ungraded papers scattered across her desk, Betty sags in her seat and watches the news as buildings collapse and civilians run for cover. There are students milling about the hall outside of her room, no doubt watching the battle unfold on their phones. The campus is all but shut down at this point, and Betty thinks back on when the world trade center fell. Classes had been canceled then with an oppressive air that left staff locked in their offices and students running to reach their families. 

The feeling is much the same now. There is an uncertainty that comes with the world today, whether the battle is fought by humans or aliens or even _gods_ , and Betty has to pinch the bridge of her nose and take a deep breath. 

It is in moments like this that she can’t help but think of the Hulk. 

The new reporters, foolish for attention as they flit about the city, try to cover the battle. There are bright blue flashes shooting across the sky as the aliens fly around buildings, and then there is a sudden flash of red and gold that brings a cheer from outside in the hallway.

As the battle escalates, Betty climbs to her feet as she watches an impossible scene. Superheroes -- actual, real-life superheroes -- are fighting against aliens in one of the country’s biggest metropolises, and she moves her hand to worry at her mother’s necklace around her throat. 

She remembers pawning off the prized possession when Bruce had needed to go on the run after her own father turned him into a fugitive. The cash she carried off in exchange burned her at fingertips, but the smile Bruce gave her when she was able to help him get out of the city had made it worth it. But then Blonsky came, Bruce left, and Betty found herself estranged from her father and bereft of her mother’s last gift. When the necklace showed up at her doorstep months later, wrapped in purple parchment paper but without a card, Betty had clasped the chain around her neck with a sad smile. She knew who had gotten it back for her. 

It’s been years since the gift had been left on her doorstep, and it was the last she had seen or heard from Bruce.

That is until today when she sees a streak of green blur across the screen, and Betty’s grip on her necklace leaves her fingers indented against the metal. The news scrambles to get a clearer view of what flew past their cameras, but Betty just knows. She always has when it comes to Bruce. 

By the time the film focuses on the Hulk, muscles bulging and hand clenched as he smashes a handful of aliens into the side of a building, Betty is almost to the door. Her bag is slung over her shoulder, papers forgotten where they lie on her desk, and she grabs for her keys that are hanging on a hook by the door. 

Her tank is full, and before she peels out of the parking lot, Betty turns off her phone with a pressed scowl. Though she’s not spoken to her father in years, she doesn’t put it past him to try to track her. To try to keep her from Bruce even now that she’s finally got a lead. Now that she finally knows he’s still alive. 

Fingers gripping tightly to the steering wheel, Betty floors her car and weaves through the interstate with one thing in mind. 

_Bruce._

_______

It takes just over seven hours for Betty to reach the perimeter set up around the outskirts of Manhattan. Her legs are stiff from driving, and she’s only stopped once to fill up on gas. The traffic coming into the city was clear until she was a few miles out from the city limits, and suddenly, everything came to a standstill. Taking the time to pull her eyes off the road in front of her, Betty looked around and felt struck by the familiar scene. 

It’s been years since she was last in New York, and yet again, she finds herself stuck on its streets surrounded by armed guards and massive tanks lined with loaded artillery shells. The southbound lanes leading away from the city have been closed to allow emergency vehicles access. The roads are littered with people standing about, either waiting to be shuttled inside the city or turned away, and Betty’s neck feels hot as she reaches for her purse. 

“Damn it, where’d it go,” the mumbles under her breath as her hands grope around her stuffed bag. When her fingers wrap around the worn leather of her wallet, she lets out a sigh of relief before tugging her Culver ID out of its pocket. She’s hooking the ID onto her necklace when a tap at her window knocks her from her thoughts. 

It’s a police officer. 

“Ma’m, will you please step out of your car?”

Betty tenses before tugging her lips into what she hopes is a patient smile. The man steps back as she gets out of the car, and he’s staring at her with pressed lips that makes her stomach turn. 

“This area’s blocked off to civilian traffic at the moment. Unless you got any business in town, there are shuttles waiting to ferry you back towards the Bronx. They got shelters ready there for the crowds.”

Plucking her ID from her chest, Betty narrows her eyes -- a look that she’s used to using on her graduate students -- and points her jaw. “It’s all I got on me right now, but I’m from Culver and willing to bet there are a lot of people in town who need medical attention. I have years of experience, sir. I’m willing to help.”

The officer falters under her gaze, and Betty knows it must be because she is still wearing her lab coat from earlier. After a moment, he nods his head and motions for him to follow her. 

“You’re right, ma’m. We don’t have the resources scrambled for...this kind of event. We’ve got a lot of casualties and not enough hands to help them. Not enough trained hands at least,” he says with a breath. Betty nods; She knows how this story goes. 

When they reach the blockade around the perimeter, Betty trails behind the officer as she leads her to a black, tarped humvee. He stops by the front door, exchanging words with the man at the wheel, before turning back to her. 

“You're clear to head in. Take this,” he says before handing her a vibrant yellow sticker. “Wear this at all times, you hear? This marks you as a medical volunteer. You get caught outside in the hot zone without that on, I don’t think you’re going to like what happens.”

Betty frowns. “What? What do you mean?”

The officer waves a hand back towards the smoking skyline. “NYPD doesn’t have full jurisdiction anymore. Once you pass this perimeter, you’re dealing with higher powers than just us.”

“Who?”

“Sorry. That answer is way above my pay grade.”

Betty nods slowly, and as she tacks her sticker onto her coat, she frowns because there is only one higher power she knows of that could take over this kind of disaster. 

SHIELD. 

Just the name alone makes her blood boil. 

He helps her inside the car and shuts the door behind her, fist rapping against the metal to signal the driver. The car revs to a start, jolting Betty in her seat, and the soldier sitting across from her with a rifle strapped across his chest snorts. 

She looks away.

What an _asshole_. 

_______

The city is a war zone. 

It’s the only way Betty can describe it. 

Glass glitters across the street under generator-powered spotlights and ambulances whirl. From where her ride stopped, Betty can’t see any aliens that had attacked the city, but she’s not surprised. Collecting the specimens would have been SHIELD’s first priority. 

For them, civilian collateral could be worried about later. 

Betty clenches her jaw. It’s not the time for her to be upset about that. 

As soon as the humvee comes to a stop, Betty is moving out of the car and hurrying to the nearest medical station. There are volunteers everywhere, pegged with stickers of all different colors, and there are even more people laid out on stretchers. 

She lets out a breath when she realizes that most of them are still alive. Bleeding and bruised, but alive. It’s more than most of them could have hoped for. 

“You're a doctor?”

At the voice, Betty turns around to find an older woman standing across from her. Her greying hair is stained with blood and ash, and on the lapel of her jacket, there is a bright yellow sticker pinned to the fabric. 

Betty straightens. “Yes.”

The other woman sags in relief before grabbing Betty’s hand. “ _Thank god!_ We don’t have enough people here. It’s mostly sutures down here, so keep your hands steady. Any bigger cases get fed to emergency evac -- just let one of the agents in black know if you need one.”

“Okay. Where do I-”

Betty trips over her own feet when the other woman pushes her towards a tent. Garbled voices drift outside from the tent, sharp and broken in pain, and Betty turns her head to catch sight of the other woman hurrying back towards the street where injured civilians are still coming out of their battered apartments. 

In the distance, beyond the sea of darkened buildings and bright spotlights, Betty can see the Stark Tower rising above the skyline with all its power still in tact from its arc reactor. It look worse for wear, but it’s still standing. 

Betty knows that that’s where Bruce will be. 

A loud wail erupts from the tent behind her, and she squares her shoulders. Taking a rubber band off her wrist, Betty pulls it behind her head and ties up her long, curling hair with ease. The pull is tight against her scalp, but the sting fades away as she makes her way inside to help.

Right now, she has a job to do. 

_______

Light is just breaking over the city when Betty finally shirks off her lab coat and tosses it in the trash. 

A limp strand of hair falls out of its tie as she wads the fabric up and shoves it in a dumpster across the street. It’s a shame, _really_ , because it was one of her better coats. 

But no amount of bleach was ever going to get the blood off those sleeves. Betty knew a lost cause when she saw one. 

Patients are still trickling in and out of the area. They come in with open cuts and dripping scrapes to leave with slathered bandages and slings. Another shipment of supplies -- ointments, opiates, and more -- are meant to arrive soon, but Betty takes herself out of the tent when her vision starts to blur. 

The older woman who had greeted her took her place, but not before handing Betty a granola bar and a gatorade. 

Betty thinks it was a pretty nice thing of her to do. 

She moves towards the edge of the camp, stepping around dazed civilians and workers alike as they stare down their new lives. In just one day, the world has now found out just how violent its future could be. It is more than some people can take. 

But such naivety had never been offered to Betty. She’s known the truth for far longer than she cares to admit. 

When she reaches a splintered bench across camp, Betty slows down before taking a careful seat. The wood groans beneath her weight but holds tired bones even when she doubles over to rest her elbows on her knees. 

_This_ , she knows, _is hell_. 

A tickle catches at her hairline, and Betty reaches up to wipe the sweat away. When she pulls her hand back, her eyes furrow when she sees that there is blood smeared against her wrist. It seems the stuff got on more of her than just her coat. 

Dammit. 

She doesn’t move -- too exhausted to even take deep, calming breaths -- and tries to forget about the soot on her cheek or the blood on her face or the dirt under her nails. 

It’s all too nauseating for her to think about. 

Betty feels like laughing at that. Her stomach is already in knots, and she’s not even seen Bruce yet.

“Miss? You feeling alright?”

She’s beyond words at this point, so Betty just nods her head at the deep voice. 

“I’m not so sure about that. You’re kind of, well, bleeding. A lot, I might add,” the voice continues, and Betty finally raises her head from her cradled hands to see who’s speaking to her. He’s dressed in black but not like the other agents. His vest cuts off at his arms to show a brace strapped to his forearm, and his dirty blonde hair is pushed back from his face with sweat. She looks into his eyes -- focused and alert -- and feels her spine tingle under his stare. 

She licks at her dry lips. “Not my blood.”

The agent almost looks surprised until he notices the yellow tag that’s now pinned to her undershirt. She hadn’t dressed for colder weather when she left Culver -- well, beyond her lab coat -- and the shivers that shoot down her arms remind her of that.

There is a moment of silence between the two of them until the agent sighs. “My question stands.”

“Huh?”

“The blood doesn’t have to be yours. Look around us. You’ve seen more than most tonight. So, the question still stands: Are you alright?”

Betty shrugs. Even if she wanted to answer, she is not sure she knows how she would. But then her gaze stops at his face when she notices the butterfly bandages across his jaw, and then it is like she is seeing this guy for the first time. 

He looks like he jumped off a building or something. 

“It was something like that.”

Her eyes widen. She must have said that last bit out loud. 

“Yes, you did. I think you just did it again.”

Betty rubs at her eyes. “Sorry, I am just...yeah. It’s been a long day.” And the agents nods. 

“I know the feeling.”

A shrill call comes from across camp, and Betty’s eyes fly over at the sound. A doctor -- volunteering in their pajamas and slippers -- is waving down an agent from his tent. His arms cross over his chest, and Betty’s stare tightens at the signal. 

They hadn’t seen any big cases for hours, but judging by the look on the doctor’s face, their streak must be over. She pushes herself to her feet and starts moving before turning her head to say goodbye to the agent. 

She’s proud that she doesn’t yelp when she turns around to see him jogging alongside her. 

“What are you doing?”

The agent dips his head. “I’m running medical evac right now. We’re short staffed at the moment. Better question is what are you doing?”

“I’m on rotation for big cases. It’s my turn to take this one,” she answers. Betty hadn’t had to handle a bigger case all night, but she had watched as doctors took their turn escorting critical patients to wherever SHIELD was relocating them. As she nears the tent, eyeing the volunteers as they carry her new patient on a stretcher towards a jet across the way, Betty evens her breathing. 

It’s her time now. 

When she reaches the patient -- a young boy with a shrapnel to the gut -- Betty sucks in a gasp and stares at the agent who’s now hopping into the cockpit.

“Fly fast, Captain.”

The man nods with a two-finger salute.

“The name’s Clint.”

_______

The boy codes twice before he gets to surgery, but when he comes out bandaged and drugged, Betty finally breathes a sigh of relief. 

She knows he’ll be alright. 

Excusing herself from the boy’s room, Betty pulls herself into a quiet hallway and ignores the hustling doctors and nurses that trail past her. 

Their IDs are all different, each from different hospitals across town. None of them have come from the same place, but they all somehow wound up up here together. 

In the Stark Tower. 

Betty could almost pinch herself now that she’s here. Of course this would be the best place to send patience until power could be restored to the city. Tony Stark might be an egotistical know-it-all, but he’s generous and likes to have his name paraded across the lips of grateful New Yorkers. 

Him offering up his building like this really shouldn’t be that surprising to Betty. She can’t place quite why she feels it anyway.

She’s still standing in the hallway, eyes stuck to her filthy flats, when a familiar shadow crosses her stare. 

“Well, you look worse than before.”

Betty tilts her head. “Shut up, Clint.”

He raises his hands in self-defense. “Just calling it how I see it. It’s my job, you know?” 

She says nothing. If he works for SHIELD, there’s no telling what his job really is. 

“Look, I hate to do this, but this building is for higher-level medical staff. You did great with that kid earlier. I’m going to have nightmares about what went down in the back of that jet, truly. But you’re going to have to head back to camp now that he’s in recovery.”

Betty tenses and finally looks up at Clint, fighting desperately to keep her lips from trembling. 

“I’m looking for someone. That’s the whole reason I came into the city,” she says after a moment, and Clint’s stare hardens. “If I give you a name, can you see if he’s here? I just...I need to know that he’s okay.”

Clint drops his arms to his side. “I’ll do what I can. There are a lot of people caught up in this. I make no promises.”

Betty takes a deep breath, looking up and down the hallway with careful eyes. It’s not as if saying his name will cause her father to appear from the corner, armed with cuffs and tranquilizers, but Betty’s not talked to anyone about Bruce in a long time. 

She can’t even remember the last time his name left her lips. 

Chewing on the words, Betty ignores the look Clint is giving her and manages to get her voice under control.

“Bruce. His name is Bruce Banner.”

Clint freezes, and Betty curls herself against the wall. She wants to run or scream or just do something. After all these years, god, how could she be so _stupid_ to think that SHIELD would _help_ her with anything regarding Bruce? Hell, this agent probably was in Harlem when everything went to shit. 

The thought makes her stomach churn. 

“Did you say Bruce Banner?”

Betty shakes her head and moves to push past Clint. “Just forget it,” she says. She will find another way to see him. But Clint just reaches out to grab her wrist, and Betty twists violently to pull away. She takes a few steps back and holds her arm to her chest, glaring sharply at Clint who hasn’t taken another step towards her. 

“Leave me alone. I’ll find him myself.”

Clint shakes his head. “No, you won’t.”

Betty opens her mouth to say something -- curses, insults, screams -- but then Clint must know that so he cuts her off. “Oh, _shit_ , I don’t mean like that. Uh, I mean that he’s on a private floor. So, you can’t just get up there. Before I can tell you, well, anything else, I need a name.”

Betty stares. 

“Your name.”

Her chest unfurls, and when she tells him her name, Clint’s eyes go wide with recognition. 

It almost makes her smile. 

Because, clearly, he does know all about Harlem. 

How does she know?

It’s because he’s smart enough to take her directly to Bruce. 

_______

The building talks. 

Sadly, that’s not the weirdest thing Betty has seen in the past 48 hours. 

It’s definitely in the top though. She thinks it’s because the AI speaks to her in a british accent. 

“Should I alert Dr. Banner of your arrival, Dr. Ross?”

Betty flinches at her last name. She would rather not go by it anymore than she has to.

“That’s okay. I don’t want to spook him.”

Clint nods. “Yeah, that’s probably not the best idea. You know how he gets.”

They pass another floor, and Betty stares at her reflection in the chrome paneling inside the elevator. “I guess I do.”

When they stop, the elevator doors open to a series of walls with Stark Industries painted on the frosted glass. Peering through the windows, Betty nods as she notes all the equipment. 

Equipment, she knows, that would make her research grow leap and bounds. Betty’s been studying cellular mechanics since undergrad, and even with her pitiful research grants, her work has been floundering under the stress of unfit lab space. 

Betty turns away from the glass when Clint stops just down the hall. 

Bruce has got to love this place. 

Her shoes pad against the floor until she comes to a stop next to Clint, and Betty looks up to see they’ve stopped in front of a door. Her heart knocks against her ribs with heavy thuds, and she wipes her palms against her dirtied jeans. 

She can feel Clint’s eyes on her. 

“You sure you don’t want to let him know you’re here first? It might be easier,” he says after a moment, and Betty doesn’t ask who he thinks it will be easier on. Her or his newfangled team of superheroes. 

She isn’t even sure she wants to know. 

“I've got this.”

Clint nods, and she straightens her shoulders before taking a step towards the door. To the side, Clint presses his palm against a scanner, and the door hisses when the security protocol accepts his print. Cold air wafts through the door, and a fresh set of chills crawl down Betty’s arms. 

She takes a step inside the lab, breathing in oil and chemicals, and it makes her think of the late lab nights she shared with Bruce their junior year at Culver. Microbiology had been a pain, but she left the class with a passing grade and the sweetest boyfriend she’d ever had. 

The door slides shut behind her, and then she is by herself. Betty keeps walking until she turns a corner.

“...was saying, you know? You got to strut, big man. It all worked out in the end. Hell, you saved my life. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for that. Wait, did I _ever_ thank you for that? It’s all a blur between Loki and shwarma.”

“It’s fine-”

“Nope! No can do. Not listening, not now. Tell me what you want. Blueberries? Flowers? A hulk-sized teddy? I can do either or. Maybe all the above. Just let me-”

She hears a heavy sigh. “Tony, do you ever shut up?”

There is a whine from across the room. “Fine then, have it your way. See if I build you anything cool now.”

Betty can almost see the unwitting smile on Bruce’s lips. “You're impossible.”

“Me? I’m impossible? Out of the two people in this lab, which of us turns into a giant, green rage monster who smash aliens with breathtaking precision. It’s an art, really. The Hulk is an artist.”

“That means a lot coming from a guy who flies around in a metal suit.”

“Aw, _c’mon!_ It’s not that weird.”

“Tony.”

“No, I refuse. It’s not weird. It’s distinctly normal. I refuse to believe otherwise.”

There’s a breath. “ _Tony._ ”

“I mean, really. Between the two of-”

“Three, sir.”

The room goes quiet at the AI’s voice, and Betty feels her hands shake at her sides. Tony whips his head to the ceiling, and from her spot, she can see that Bruce has his back turned to her. 

“JARVIS?”

“There are now three people in this lab, Sir. I thought you should know.”

Tony curses hotly under his breath and looks as if he’s about to summon his armor. It’s Bruce, however, that makes Betty’s stomach drop. She knows him better than herself, and it’s why she knows he’s about to lose his temper. She can see it in the way his neck stiffens, the way his chest rounds. 

Betty doesn’t need to see his flaring green eyes to know that the Hulk is just on the other side.

She doesn’t think when she steps out from the cornered wall of the lab, but when she does, Betty feels the air blow from her lungs in a jolted breath. 

_God, he’s so beautiful._

His hair is greying at the sides -- something he had always complained about but Betty had secretly loved -- and his skin is darker than she ever remembers it being. Bruce’s clothes are rumpled, but she knows they aren’t his own. That much is obvious when she notices the Iron Man mask printed on the front of his shirt. 

He’s barefoot, and that makes Betty smile. The man had never favored shoes -- even sandals were a struggle for him -- and it’s something so Bruce that it makes her eyes water. 

After all these years, it’s nice to know that somethings haven’t changed. 

“Betty?”

At his voice, Betty swallows the rising lump in her throat. 

“ _Bruce_ ,” she breathes. 

“Uh, should I go? Is this a moment I’m interrupting?” 

Betty ignores Tony’s curious tone and takes a step forward. Bruce is stand so still across the room, fingers dangling at his pockets as if they don’t know where to go, but his eyes are glassy and rimmed red with more than exhaustion. 

She knows she must look the same. 

It’s one step and then another until she’s running at him, and her arms clutch at his cotton shirt tightly once they finally wrap around his lean body. She tucks her head into the crook of his neck and breathes deep. When he tangles a hand into her hair, Betty's mouth brushes against the skin peeking out from the collar of his shirt. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers, and Bruce breathes against her neck. 

“I know.”

Betty is exhausted, covered in dirt and blood and sweat, but none of that matters because Bruce is in her arms and _that is all that matters._

There is cough from the other side of the room. “Excuse me, but what feeling should I be feeling? All I'm feeling is left out.”

Bruce’s chest rumbles against her own when he speaks. “Tony?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Betty laughs. 

_______

When Bruce takes her to his room, she’s grateful for the hot shower that pricks at her skin. Betty scrubs at the dirt and brushes at the soot on her elbows. There are clothes waiting outside the door for her when she’s done, and she ignores the drop of disappointment that settles in her stomach once she realizes that Bruce isn’t waiting for her. 

The threadbare shirt she pulls on feels soft on her skin, and she knows that this shirt is most definitely one of Bruce’s. The shorts as well because even though Bruce is small for his size, she still has to double-knot the elasticized waist to keep them on her hips. 

Her hair is still damp from the shower, and she idly combs her fingers through any tangles. It’s a few minutes later when JARVIS’ voice comes from above. 

“I have been told to alert you that Dr. Banner is currently in the kitchen of this floor. The rest of the team is with him. You are welcome to join at your leisure, Dr. Ross.”

Betty bites her lip before thanking the disembodied voice. 

Yeah, it’s definitely one of the top weirdest things she’s done today. 

When she makes her way to the kitchen, feet bare and face fresh, it’s the smell that immediately hits her. Betty’s stomach grumbles in anticipation because it has been too, too long since she has eaten some of Bruce’s homemade food. 

His eyes are soft when they reach her own, and Betty doesn’t miss the hesitation she sees in his smile. There’s a lot of words left unsaid and time spent wasted between the two of them. Years of it, in fact. And Betty knows how careful -- how cautious -- Bruce will be in trying to approach her after all these years. 

If she left it up to him, he probably would have kept his distance. It’s what he’s done so far. 

Betty, however, knows better. It’s time for a change. 

So she ignores Tony’s chatter as she takes a seat at the kitchen counter. Bruce is stirring a pot, and from across the room, she can see Clint speaking in low tones to a redheaded woman in black. She can tell by his gestures that he’s talking about her. 

There is a booming laugh from the other side of the room, and Betty cranes her neck to see two large men standing by the wall-to-wall window that overlooks the skyline.

It takes her a moment to recognize one of the men, but when she does, she spins around to Bruce with wide eyes. 

“Is that...?”

Bruce looks to where she is pointing before smirking. “Yup.”

“And he’s...?”

“Apparently.”

“With you...?”

Bruce spoons some spiced quinoa onto a plate before sitting it in front of her. “Don’t know why you sound so surprised.”

Betty laughs, long and hard. It’s a strange feeling, and though it makes her stomach twinge, she’s glad for it when she sees Bruce smiling at her. 

“Not surprised, Bruce. Never with you,” she says after she’s done laughing, and Bruce gives her a look that makes her toes curl. 

She had forgotten how much she had missed being near him. 

Before she can say anything else, there is a sudden clap on her back, and Betty jerks upright at the contact. She turns to see Tony peering at her from behind his glasses.

“How did I not know I had _the_ Dr. Betty Ross in my tower until an hour ago? Actually, don’t answer that -- JARVIS will later when I’m not so curious as to why you’re here.”

Betty can hear the room quiet, and her face feels hot under the attention. 

“Well, you see, it’s pretty simple. Bruce and I, uh...,” she trails off, looking at Bruce from the corner of her eye. She doesn’t know what he wants her to say. What he’s comfortable with letting these people know. 

Bruce rubs at the back of his neck. “We were working together when the Hulk first showed up,” he says after a moment, and Betty looks down at her lap and blinks slowly. 

It shouldn’t hurt after all these years, but the sting licks at her heart when he no longer calls her his girlfriend. It’s been years since he last could. Hearing it now, after all that time, makes her want to... _god_ , hit something.

It’s that kind of aggression that always made Betty think she could get along with the Hulk. They already have something to bond over.

Tony continues rambling on after Bruce’s answer, asking question after question about her research and findings and current employment status, and Betty keeps up with a smile. Bruce stands in the back and watches. 

Dinner goes over much the same: Someone asks a questions, and she answers as best she can. Clint and Steve -- who Betty still cannot actually believe is really Captain America -- are washing dishes with Bruce drying when a yawn cracks her lips wide open. Tony leers. 

“Tired, Betty?”

She nods with a hand covering her mouth. From the other side of the room, she can hear Natasha mutter something surely unkind under her breath. It makes Betty decide that the woman isn't so scary after all.

Tony gets to his feet, and it’s then that Pepper Potts walks into the room. Betty feels a little starstruck at that. Dressed in sweats, Pepper pecks a kiss to Tony’s cheek before looking over to Betty with a knowing smile. 

“You must be the newest addition to our collection,” she jokes as she gestures around the room. 

Betty nods. “Just for the next day or two.”

She forces herself to stare at Pepper even when she hears a sharp breath pull from Bruce across the room, but Betty can’t deal with that right now. 

She’s tired. The kind of bone-aching tired that rattles in your chest and pulls your eyes shut with force. Honestly, she’s surprised that she’s stayed up this long. 

Tony clucks his tongue. “Yes, well, I was thinking you’d stay with Bruce over there,” he says slowly, “but plans change. JARVIS, find Betty the best room we got. Other than mine. That’s for Pepper and I. That is unless you’d like to join us,” Tony suggests with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Betty doesn’t even feel offended by the joke, and judging by the playful smack Pepper aims at Tony’s arm, the other woman isn’t either. 

Bruce, however, is a different story. 

“ _Tony!_ ”

There is a moment of silence -- the kind where you could hear a pin drop -- but Betty knows better than the others. So she shrugs her shoulders and walks towards Pepper with steady steps.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I make it a deal not to sleep around with guys like you. Your girlfriend, though, I will think about. What do you think, Pepper? You want to take me to my room?”

Clint sputters from the sink, and Tony’s smile reaches lecherous proportions when Pepper takes Betty’s arm.

“I’d like nothing more,” Pepper answers, and even Bruce laughs when Tony’s jaw drops. 

The two of them are heading out of the kitchen, shaking with unvoiced laughter, and Betty can hear Tony calling out behind them. 

“JARVIS, watch them! Let me know if-”

“Tony.”

At Bruce’s voice, Tony quiets down. 

“Shutting up now.”

_______

Betty wakes up and sees her clock flash red on her bedside table. 

_3:49 AM_

She groans, throwing an arm over her eyes. 

Flicking on her light, Betty slips out from under her covers and brings herself to her feet. Still wearing Bruce’s shirt, she thumbs the fabric between her fingers and takes a deep breath. 

Betty looks up to the ceiling. “JARVIS?”

The answer is immediate. “Yes, Dr. Ross?”

“Could you tell me where Bruce is? If he’s asleep?”

“Dr. Banner is on the main balcony. It is five floors above yours,” JARVIS answers, already knowing why Betty had asked. It would be very impressive if she wasn’t so nervous. 

When Betty reaches the elevator, she carefully presses her hand to the scanner and hopes that no sirens start wailing. Instead, the doors slide open -- she should have known that Tony would key her into the security system -- and presses the floor that she’s wants to go to. 

The doors open not even a minute later, and Betty takes careful steps around the beaten room. Windows are blown out, but the glass must have already been cleared away. There are scorch marks on some of the furniture, even one of the walls, but what catches her attention is the crater sitting just in front of the bar. 

She stands next to it, eyes roaming over the cracked cement and tiles, when a voice comes from behind her. 

“The other guy.”

Betty spins with a hand pressed over her heart. “ _God_ , Bruce, don’t scare me like that.”

He shrugs before standing next to her, careful to keep a safe distance. Betty’s fingers twitch towards his open palm. 

“The other guy did this.”

She nods. She had already guessed as much. 

They stand there for a few minutes, each one dragging by with still air, until Betty moves towards the balcony. Bruce still doesn’t say anything, but she can hear his footsteps echoing behind her. When she steps out onto the balcony, Betty finds that the air up here is clearer than that below. She breathes in deep, lungs expanding in her chest, before she lets out a heavy sigh. 

It’s the best she can do right now. 

“Why did you come?”

Betty turns to Bruce. She knows he isn’t talking about this floor; He’s talking about her being here at all. 

“Because I love you.”

It’s an honest answer. There’s no room for uncertainty in those words, and she doesn’t care to sugarcoat them. This answer is for her, not Bruce. 

She never got to tell him those words before he left all those years ago. Betty won’t let that happen again. 

Bruce smiles, but it’s not the one she fell in love with. It’s half-hearted and strained with something that Betty can’t even begin to understand. 

“I know.”

She leans against the railing, but pulls back when it creaks under her weight much like the bench she’d sat on yesterday had. Betty pulls away and sees Bruce’s hand is nearly at her arm, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. 

It makes her _angry_. 

“Is it really so hard to say that you love me?”

Bruce says nothing. 

“Is it?”

“Betty, _please_ , it’s not-”

She rounds on him, stepping into his personal space. They’re close -- not as close as they had been in the lab -- but the tension between them sends shivers down her spine. 

“Do you love me still? You don’t even have to say it, Bruce. Just, please, for me? Yes or no?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, but Betty keeps his gaze. She will not be the one to walk away from this.

Bruce looks away. “Yes.”

Her heart flutters in her chest, and as much as Betty wants to reach across and tug Bruce’s hand into her own, she keeps some space between them. She won’t be cruel to him or unkind. Even if she never understood his reasons for leaving her, Betty knows that he thought he was doing the best thing for her. 

She takes a step back.

“Okay.”

He looks back to her. “Okay?”

She tugs at the sleeve of her shirt, pulling the fabric below her wrist. “Yeah, okay. As in it’s good to know. We can go on from there.”

Bruce takes a step forward, and she doesn’t move. “Betty, that’s not...It’s not safe. You’re not safe.”

“ _Bullshit._ ”

He blinks at her. “Please-”

Something inside her chest cracks, and Betty is furious. Her cheeks flush, and she struggles to keep her mouth shut against the anger raging within her. 

“Who gave you the right to tell me whether I’m safe or not?”

Bruce opens his mouth to say something, but Betty presses on in a way that she thinks would make even the Hulk proud. 

“No, _shut up!_ You don’t get to talk about this right now! Actually, never. You never get to talk to me about it again. You want to know why? Because the Hulk never meant to hurt me. God, it was one time -- the first time he ever came out -- and then what did he do? He saved me life again and again and _again_. How can you be so stupid? Did the gamma rays do more than we thought-”

“ _Hey_ ,” Bruce cuts soundly, but Betty is too far gone to calm herself now. 

“Just tell me why you have to be so difficult about this! Is it because you think you’ll hurt me, because you won’t. We both know that. If it’s about my dad, don’t worry about that. I’ve not seen him in years,” she bites, and Bruce looks taken back at that. “I don’t know what else to do. I really don’t, Bruce. I’ve tried so hard to move on.”

“Betty-”

“So I can only think of two things. Either we’re okay, and we try again. We start over and make things work, or we end it. We say our goodbyes, and that’s it.”

He is standing not even a foot away with his fists clenched. “It’s not that simple, Betty.”

She snorts. “But it is. It really is.”

“I just wanted keep you out of all this,” he grumbles, and Betty digs her feet into the floor. 

“Why?”

Bruce throws his hands to his side. "You think it's been easy for me? Do you even get how hard it was for me to leave? Leaving you -- everything we could have had -- it wasn't what I wanted. Not when everything I still loved was left there.”

She blinks back tears. “If it was half as hard as watching you leave, then yes. I think I do,” Betty admits after a moment, and her hand climbs to her neck to worry at the necklace still settled at the base of her throat. Bruce’s eyes trail to the chain wrapped around her finger, and he lets out a jilted breath.

“You got it then?”

Betty nods. “I never take it off.”

The silence returns and settles between them, only interrupted by the occasional siren from the city or the breeze as it rushes by her ear. All the tension that stood between them has fizzled away with her anger and his confession. 

Betty wishes it made her feel any better about what’s happening. 

She turns her face to look out at the city, and when the sun eventually begins to rise over the skyline, Betty looks beside her to see Bruce with his eyes closed against the dawning of a new day. The light filters over his face, filling in the shadows of his cheeks and eyes, and Betty lets her hand drop away from her necklace before turning around. 

It’s not running away, she tells herself. This isn’t the end of their conversation. 

The pit in her stomach, though, makes her wonder how confident she is about that. 

She’s nearly to the balcony door, busted open by one of the attacks, when Bruce’s voice makes her stop.

“Okay then.”

Betty places a hand against the frame of the door and doesn’t look back when Bruce continues. 

“I’d like to...try again. I’ll take whatever you're ready have to give.”

Betty laughs. “You act like you don’t already have all of me, Bruce.”

She walks away with that, leaving Bruce to his thoughts -- because she knows how badly he needs to be left in peace -- and makes her way to the elevator. When she steps inside, she leans against the cool metal of the elevator and closes her eyes against the hum as it rises. 

_It’s a nice place_ , she thinks. Betty thinks she might be ready to give New York a spin so long as she avoids Harlem for the time being. Tony’s got some good benefits for the job he’s already offered or really insisted she take. She’d never have to grade essays or lab reports again, and the idea of that alone is almost enough to make her smile. 

As she gets off and heads into the kitchen, Betty pulls around to a cabinet before see spots a box of pancake mix shoved in the back. She brings it down and gets to work, grabbing ingredients and bowls and pans as she goes. 

With each flip of a pancake, another reason pops around for her to stay. 

She plates her breakfast, grabbing a handful of blueberries -- and doesn’t even feel bad it because Tony has a small arsenal of them -- and sits down to eat beside the windows that overlook the city. The sun is still coming up, blazing brightly with oranges and purples and pinks. The view alone is enough to make Betty feel more at peace than she has in, _well_ , years. 

Betty crosses her ankles and takes a bite, savoring the sweet, buttery bite of her pancakes.

Bruce comes to join her half an hour later with tea and granola in hand. After he takes a seat next to her, Betty leans her head against his shoulder and breathes in the moment as if it’s the first she’s ever had with him. 

She isn't surprised that it feels nothing short of perfection.

**Author's Note:**

> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, settings, plot lines, concepts, or terminology as created, used, and owned by Marvel Entertainment, LLC ®. This is a work of fanfiction.


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